


Caller Number One

by ALittleWrath



Category: The Property of Hate
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mood Whiplash, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, yeah sorry guys this ones a little dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 04:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleWrath/pseuds/ALittleWrath
Summary: TOby doesn't know what Dial's deal is. Slowly, he finds out.Or: A collection of conversations over the Endless Deep.





	Caller Number One

**Author's Note:**

> Oh one more thing before we go! Thank you so much to TheRealRaeWest for patiently reading, editing, and helping me with the mathsy bit, AND for lending your headcanon as to TOby's death. I love you and couldn't have done it without you.

TOby met him once before. He remembers being introduced to this loud, gangly, walking _microphone_ and being, understandably, mildly horrified.

“Is this your new Hero?”

Arge- at the time, he'd known him only as RGB- had smiled, given TOby a firm pat on the back, and said, “Got a real winner this time, don't you think?”

The copper automaton had cleared his throat (could he even do that?), shifted his stance, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Sure thing. Anywho-” he looked behind himself, as if searching for some hidden specimen. “I'll let you get to it.”

The pair had wished each other good luck, embraced, and the microphone had held onto RGB a little too long after RGB stopped hugging back.

TOby wouldn't see him again until after he met Her.

He’s been staring into the Endless Deep for a week when he first hears the _squeak_ of a pair of sneakers against the dock.

“Well, look-y here!” He hears, as a familiar pair of too-skinny legs start to sit down next to him. “If it ain't the _‘real winner’!”_

But TOby knows things now.

“You work for Her.” Is all he says.

“Well shoot, covers blown.” The hunk of copper metal next to him returns, and for a second TOby almost doesn't pick up on the sarcasm.

“Don't worry ‘bout a thing, Real Winner, I'm just killin’ time- _well-”_

“Don't make the joke I know you're about to make.”

The microphone makes some horrendous sound between a snort and a giggle, and for the first time since he was placed on this shelf, TOby wishes he were alone.

“So how's the view here, Real Winner? You enjoyin’ it? Not _too_ much though, I hope! I never really spent too much time here- She don't like it when I'm away too long- but hey, maybe now that you're here I'll have a reason! I sure do think it's pretty-”

And TOby tunes him out.

 

The next time is in the middle of the night.

TOby is awake, of course, because his eyes don't close anymore- _don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it-_ but he's used to at least having silence when the Light is away. In this world, sleep is as integral as honey to bees, or water to fish. Everything with a beating heart sleeps at night.

So TOby is more than a little surprised when he hears a pair of sneakers _squeak-squeak-squeak-_ ing against the dock.

He peeks out of the corner of his eye, and sees that eerily lanky automaton coming toward him.

“What's up, Dollface?” He looks oddly unsteady on his feet, and TOby finds himself rooting for him to tip just a little further and go right over the edge.

“What ever happened to Real Winner?”

“Oh, I like that one,” the microphone says, “but you're just such a Dollface, Dollface!”

“What the hell are you doing here,” TOby tries.

“Just lookin’ for good company!” he says. “What's a guy gotta do around here to have some decent confabulation?”

TOby refrains from pointing out that the microphone less has conversations and more talks to himself in the vicinity of other people. Maybe if he stays quiet, his company will realise they won't find ‘decent confabulation’ here.

“Just got back from the House Of Paint,” the microphone says, and TOby can't help but say “You look like it.”

“Is it just me or does she raise her prices every time you go in?” he says, ignoring TOby's comment. “I tell ya, one time I went in there and she was addin’ zero's to her kiss display!”

_That didn't happen,_ TOby thinks, he's not even sure Madras _has_ signs.

“You think her an’ Arge gonna last?” the microphone asks.

“Oh yeah, they're a match made in heaven,” TOby tells him, “RGB hates feelings, and Madras doesn't have any.”

The microphone cackles like mad, and TOby wonders if every time he laughs will be horrifying.

“You're funny, Dollface!”

“TOby,” he says, “it's TOby.”

The microphone reaches out a hand, and grabs TOby's in a mock-handshake.

“Dial.”

The microphone- _Dial,_ rambles on and on, and just when TOby starts to wonder how long it's been, the Light comes up.

_What the fuck?_

 

Dial comes back a week later with a spring in his step and something in his hands.

“Look-y what I got!” He yelps excitedly as he sits down, cross-legged next to TOby.

“I don't care,” TOby says. Dial responds by holding up his treasure- a book, with what looks like Japanese characters across the cover.

“ _‘No Longer Human’_ , nicked it off Tinker,” he says, pride evident in his voice, “Guess you could call me a bit of a biblioklept. Been wantin’ to read it.”

“Oh yeah, good luck with that,” TOby returns. “He's gonna be pissed, you know.”

“That's what makes it fun!” Dial argues, and TOby can't really disagree with that. He imagines Tinker coming after Dial with drills a-blazing, and yeah, that sounds pretty hilarious from his perspective.

“Cell’s a’right,” Dial says, as he flips through his book. “‘Case you were curious.”

TOby _wasn't_ curious- he doesn't care for Cell, her sticky fingers and general lack of hospitality don't exactly make for a great host, especially when RGB so clearly adores her. He wonders if Dial holds the same affection for her.

“Asked me about Arge, I told her, 'I dunno what that fool's up to! Ask him yourself.’”

“Huh, that's funny. Didn't take you for a liar,” TOby says. He's been in that awful, suffocating white space- he's seen the panels on the wall, knows She and, by extension, Dial, see every little thing RGB does. Dial merely folds his arms and sticks his... chin out indignantly.

“Hey, you don't know everything about me!”

 

Dial comes back another week later, and rambles about some rumor he heard from Cell. Then, it's the next day, and he spends forty minutes talking about Fear behaviour, and why they hunt in packs. Sometimes he’ll go days without seeing him, sometimes he sees him three times in the same day. He comes at night often- usually coming from the House Of Paint. Dial will talk and talk about the most inane subjects, and TOby could not be less interested if he tried.

 

One day Dial sits down next to him, immediately crossing his legs and propping his chin into his hands, his fingers tense and his shoulders slumped in submission.

There's something missing.

“No jacket?” TOby asks.

“Ripped it.” Dial answers shortly. TOby takes the time to note that _all_ of Dial's amour is damaged- his jeans torn and patched up practically every inch, his t-shirt wrinkled and creased. These clothes are not well taken care of. “Gonna go get a new one from Cell in a bit. Y’know, you'd think after all this time we'd think'a somethin’ better to protect ourselves with.”

_“Better_ than _amour?”_ TOby doesn't hold the incredulity out of his voice.

“Yeah! I feel like it tears so easily.”

_“Easily?!”_

“Yeah! Not to mention, ain't exactly easy t’get your hands on. I mean, amour just ain't practical.”

Dial keeps at it for a good chunk of time, coming up with reason after reason why amour simply doesn't make the cut, each one sounding more and more far-fetched and, honestly, somewhat morbid to TOby’s ears. But he doesn't know how to argue with Dial, so he doesn't.

 

At one point, TOby actually finds himself interested.

“-’so that's why they call me a con-artist!’ and I said, ‘Actually Arge, con is _with_ , _sine_ is without.’”

Despite himself, TOby laughs. It's hard and it _hurts_ , but he can't help it and he doesn't really want to.

“How do you even know that?” he asks once he regains himself.

“Come again?”

“How did you know that? Don't tell me you speak Latin.”

For the first time since Dials visits started, there is a _palpable_ silence.

_Guess I found his off switch._

“I dabble,” he says finally. “Say, d’ya know they got a whole booth in the market where they sell epiphanies? You wouldn’t think-”

And like that, TOby tunes him out.

 

One bright afternoon, Dial shows up with something in his arms.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” TOby says as the microphone approaches. “Get that thing outta here.”

“What?” Dial asks innocently. “It's cute!”

What _it_ is- is a Problem. They're like Lies; cute, but bad to have around. They're small creatures, looking a little like eyeless cats- or what TOby thinks he remembers cats looking like. Maybe not. The one in Dial's arms has dark black fur with little patches of white, and looks to be almost emaciated. It opens its mouth and emits a tiny yawn, and TOby's resolve almost breaks, before it bites it's fangs down on the sleeve of Dial's jacket.

“Yeah, real adorable.”

“Aw, it's harmless!” Dial argues.

“You can't keep a Problem as a pet, moron.”

“Sure can! Watch me!” He lifts it up to his face, and the way he tilts his head, TOby thinks he might be smiling- or at least, might _think_ he's smiling.

“Hey there, li’l guy! I'm gonna name you Belle Dame! How'zat soun-”

The Problem reaches out, and scratches a claw down Dial's receiver.

Dial cries out, dropping the Problem on the bridge. For a second it looks like the fall may have been too hard for it, but then it snaps its neck back into place and starts to trot off.

“Oh no you don't!” Dial says, snatching it and bringing it back to sit next to him. His voice sounds crackly and filtered now.

“Why do you like things that wanna kill you so much?” TOby asks, and Dial harrumphs.

“Ain’t no matter. Tinker can fix me up,” he says.

He takes too long to get his receiver fixed, and that isn't the last time TOby sees Belle Dame.

 

“Hey,” TOby calls out one day, when he hears a pair of clicking heels pass him by. RGB keeps walking. “Hey, hey Arge! I need to talk to you!”

“What, pray tell, could we _possibly_ need to speak about?” RGB asks over his shoulder.

“What's up with Dial?” TOby asks.

RGB laughs, and walks on.

 

“A’right, here's a game,” Dial says, about twenty minutes into one of his rants.

“Oh, this oughta be good.”

“Books that sound more interestin’ with the last letter knocked off.”

“... What.”

Dial pauses in what seems like thought, then says, “The Executioner's _Son.”_

TOby takes a second to process what he means.

“Oh. I get it, like… The Invisible _Ma.”_

Dial snorts.

“Not bad! Alright… The _Rave_ ,” he says proudly.

“The Fog Hor.”

_“TOby!”_

“What? You didn't say I couldn't say-”

“Don't say it _again!”_ He shoves TOby's shoulder, just enough to rock him to and fro, and the pair of them snicker. “Vanity _Fai_.”

_“Whaaat!?”_

“Yanno, like _fae?_ The fairfolk?”

“... I'll allow it... Scoo.”

Dial erupts into laughter.

“That's it. Just, _“Scoo”.”_

TOby doesn't know how long they spend on their game, but he does realise that it's dark by the time Dial leaves.

 

“You think it's a long way down?”

TOby peers over the edge of the bridge, into the Endless Deep.

“I don't wanna think about it,” he says.

Dial stands up from where he sits next to TOby, dangling his legs over the edge and swinging them break and forth, and adjusts himself to a kneeling position. He gets down on both knees, and dips his head downward past the dock.

“What are you _doing?!”_

“Just gettin’ a better look!” Dial argues. The further down he stretches, the further up his t-shirt rides, exposing some small blemish on his pelvis, but he sits back up before TOby can make it out. “Can't really be Endless.”

“Well you're not gonna find out the answer like that,” TOby says.

Dial hums, rubbing his thumb against the lower band of his “face”.  “Well, how fast would I go? Is gravity the same here?” he asks.

“Don't ask me.”

“I'm not!” he says. “If there's… thirty-six-hundret seconds in an hour, times nine-point--eight-one… whoo, that's thirty five thousand,  
three hundred sixteen.”

TOby blinks. _What?_

“Then- aw shoot, dunno the distance. A’right, then what about… terminal velocity? How d’you calculate the surface area of a metal skeleton…? I dunno, let's just call it… one-point-nine, meters squared.

“Wha’dya think I'm made of?” he asks, “Aluminium? Copper?” He knocks his fist against his knee, exposed through torn amour, producing a sharp _clang clang clang._ “Let's call it copper. So if copper weighs about nine grams per cubic centimeter…”

Dial starts talking under his breath, and TOby hears _“A hundred-eighty centimeters,”_ , then _“must be ‘bout two inches thick-”,_ then something about a circumference, until finally he declares, “That's about thirty-six pounds, give'er take.”

“... What are you doing?” is all TOby can think to ask.

“Tryna figure how long it'd take to get to the bottom!” Dial says. “So thats sixteen kilo’s. Then if the air density is… one-point-two-sompin’, and the drag is… hhhhhuh, point-oh-four, then that's… point-oh-nine-one-two. So thirty two, 'vided by…”

He snaps his fingers.

“My terminal velocity'd be three-hundret-and-one meters per second!”

TOby wants to ask Dial _how the hell did you do that off the top of your head_ or _are you some kind of crazy genius?_

“You still don't know how far you have to go,” he points out instead. Dial shrugs.

“Unsolvable,” he says, “problem with no solution.”

 

Dial is already sitting next to him one day, rambling on about some play TOby has never heard of, when a pair of clicking heels sound off behind them.

TOby's nerves instinctively kick in, expecting a familiar British accent to reprimand him, but instead,

“Oh, hello Dial, TOby.”

_Oh. It's the prism-head._

“Ey, howdy there partner!” Dial calls, although he doesn't sound _happy_ so much as… amused?

“Always good to run into familiar faces,” Magnus says. “Just coming from the House of Paint, was in need of some spare tools.”

_“Yeah, a whole bag of them I'd say,”_ TOby hears Dial mutter under his breath. Then, louder, “You don't say! Ain't this a little outta your way, though?”

“Oh, assuredly, but Madras is the only merchant who carries what I was looking for- How are the two of you fairing?”

“Oh, just peachy keen!” Dial says, but there's an aggressive tilt of irony in his voice. “Just hanging out, y'know. Seeing the sights.”

“Oh- yes, of course,” Magnus says awkwardly. “Well then… I must be off. Be seeing you.”

“Yeah, see ya round, Mags! Not too soon though, I hope!” Dial calls, waving enthusiastically as Magnus takes his leave. When Magnus is reasonably out of earshot, Dial drops his hand and says,

“I hate that guy.”

“Yeah, that was _not_ subtle,” TOby returns.

“Wasn't trying to be!”

“What don't you like about Magnus?” TOby asks. It's not that he's particularly _fond_ of the guy- but he's never really put that much thought into it. If he had to pick a word, TOby would say he was apathetic toward the magician.

“Ack! What _do_ I like about him would be a shorter list,” Dial says, crossing his arms. “... Actually, there just wouldn't be one. He's _awful,_ don't even get me _started.”_

“Alright.”

“First of all-”

“Here we go.”

“He's so _pretentious!_ The long trench coat, the way he talks- it all just screams _'tryin’ too hard’.”_

“Says the guy wearing a neon green leather jacket.”

“Oh hush,” Dial says. “He's a jerk, too.”

TOby would have done a double-take if he could move. Magnus _was_ a little pretentious, TOby would admit that- but the few times they'd met, he'd always seemed to be the pinnacle of manner.

“... Elaborate.”

“He's so into himself! He's just proud’a himself for havin’ Arge on his arm.”

“I don't think _that's_ true.”

“You can _see_ it!” Dial exclaims. “The way they're always all over each other, like _teenagers._ No offense, but ain't nobody given me a rose since I was fifteen. Or somethin’.”

TOby's starting to enjoy this.

“Okay, it is a little juvenile.”

“And I ain't never cared for his shows, neither,” Dial says. “Too much flash, not enough substance. Too many special effects.”

“Guess you could say he's a bit of a-”

“ _Don't!”_

“Fog hor.”

_“You-!”_

 

“It’s a cryin’ shame we don't got any constellations here,” Dial says one night.

TOby peeks upward, and wonders how it's never occurred to him, in all the time he's been sat on this ledge, that there are no stars in the sky above.

“I don't really know anything about the stars,” he says.

“Ooh, they're real neat!” Dials voice becomes excited. “There's Sirius, Polaris, Arcturus, Fomalhaut- uh, but the constellations are more interesting.”

TOby keeps quiet. Interrupting now would be a crime.

“You've pro’lly seen Orion. He's one’a the more obvious ones. _The Hunter._ Bit of a jerk if you ask me. Oh! Surely you know Ursa Major and Ursa Minor! Arcas is Callisto's kid, but you could probably figure that out. Then there's Draco, Cassiopeia, Aquilas…” Dials voice trails off as he slowly lowers himself to lay down on the bookshelf.

“Gemini's my favourite,” he says, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Story goes, there's two brothers- twins. Castor is mortal, Pollux is immortal, but that's a whole ‘nother can of worms. But these two are thick as thieves. Inseparable. So when Castor bites it after a battle, Pollux is….” He pauses. “Well let's just say he's a rabbit of negative euphoria.”

“Excuse me?” TOby blurts out.

_“Not a happy bunny,”_ Dial clarifies. “So Pollux goes to Zeus and tells him to off him too, cuz he can't stand not bein’ with Castor. But Zeus is like, ‘hey, why don't you both just come to Olympus instead?’”

He stops talking.

“Is that how it ends?” TOby asks, after a moment or two of silence.

“Oh, I know!” Dial snaps his fingers. “I'll tell you about Lyra!”

 

This time, when TOby hears clicking heels coming his way, he doesn't wait until they're behind him to speak.

“RGB,” he calls, “You can't ignore me.”

“Ignore you about what?” RGB asks cheerfully.

“What's Dial’s deal?”

He hears a sigh above him as RGB gets closer.

“Oh, don't tell me you're still on about that,” he says.

“You never answered me,” TOby replies simply.

He finally hears RGB come to a halt.

“What are you trying to do?” RGB asks, suspicion clear in his voice.

“Nothing. I dunno. Dial-” _Talks for hours without ever really saying anything. Plays ditzy but drops million dollar words like they're going out of style. Has the most heavily damaged amour I've ever seen. Never sleeps. Maybe speaks Latin._ “-Is fucking weird, that's all.”

“Mmm, something of an understatement, I assure you,” RGB replies. “What I mean is, what is it to you? Why do you want to know? You two haven't been speaking, have you?”

“As much as anyone _can_ speak ‘with’ Dial,” he says, and he hears RGB hum with displeasure behind him.

“Well, I hope you're having yourself a laugh,” RGB says, and walks away.

 

“Wha'dya think of the new Hero?”

“What, the… with the curly hair?” TOby responds, only half paying attention.

“That's the one.”

“I dunno, they're…” TOby trails off. “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

“I dunno, what are you even asking?”

“Do you think they stand a chance!” Dial huffs. “Do they look like they got the stuff!”

_“No one's_ got the stuff,” TOby says. “There's no point. Anyway, you're just asking so She can hear what I think.”

“Oh, you're just paranoid,” Dial says casually, but he's shaking his head and waving his hands back and forth in front of him; _Don't say that, I'll get in trouble._

“... Nevertheless,” TOby says, “there's no point.”

“You think it's all a bust?” Dial asks quietly.

“Well, yeah,” TOby says, “but, I mean if I had to put them on a scale… they seem like they're smarter than me, maybe not as powerful as Julienne… I dunno, I only met them once.”

“You should've seen _me.”_ Dial whistles. “Boy, I was _terrible!”_

TOby snorts. “I believe that.”

“First off, I've got the physical strength of a tuna sandwich. Second, I'm a _panicker._ Freeze up like a deer in headlights. Plus I got a certain… cacoethes. Honestly, I got _no_ idea why Arge picked me.”

TOby has an idea why RGB would pick Dial. A Hero who can do complex calculations in his head and speaks upward of two languages is a hell of a lot more useful than someone who can only fight.

“I was a pretty garbage Hero,” TOby admits.

“Aw, that's dumb,” Dial says. “I'm sure you were the best of the best!”

“I really, really wasn't,” TOby says. “Being pissed off all the time isn't really a Heroic quality.”

“Well, it sure ain't,” Dial says. “... But a little birdy told me you were _kind.”_

“Well, we can agree to disagree,” TOby says. “What about Tinker? He's cool, why didn't he work?”

“I dunno if I wanna critique the other Heroes willy-nilly,” Dial says. “Feels in poor taste.”

“You're lying,” TOby says. “You _super_ do.”

“... Yeah, I do. I think maybe it's cos he's too _quiet._ Y'know, I mean.. too, uh… reticent?”

“English?”

“He's kinda a pushover,” Dial says.

“I dunno, he's got a mean arm when he wants to. But I see it.”

“How bout Mels? She's got good spirit, what's wrong with her?”

“Aw, she's _sappy._ You gotta be a little thicker skinned than that.”

“I guess…” Dial taps the ridge of his receiver thoughtfully. “Y’know, I don't ever see anyone else ‘round here,” he says. “You don't really hang out too much with the other Heroes, huh?”

_No,_ TOby thinks.

“Well, I got on pretty good with Julienne,” he says instead.

“That makes a lotta sense,” Dial says. “Both’a you are tough as nails.”

“And Tinker… well, we had stuff in common. But I didn't spend a lot of time at Cells shop.”

Dial hums thoughtfully.

“And neither of 'em ever…?”

“Why would they?” TOby asks. “They've both got better things to do. Tinker is at the shop, and Julienne… to be honest I've got no idea what she's doing, but whatever it is, she's doing it with Melody.”

“Y’know, I didn't know you spent _any_ time at Cell's shop,” Dial says.

“... Don't _most_ Heroes?”

“Well, yeah,” Dial says. “Just didn't think you were one of ‘em. I kinda thought you weren't crazy about her.”

“I'm _not._ She's a lying, thieving grifter, who only uses Heroes for free labour and RGB for revenue.”

“Hey!” Dial suddenly shouts. “Now that ain't true!”

“Yeah? And what is?”

“Cell let RGB stay with her a long time when he- uh, well when he got done with _his_ journey,” Dial says. “I dunno exactly how long, wasn't around then, but she did the same for me when I got done. I stayed for a _long_ time… Should've stayed longer.”

TOby looks over. Dial is looking down at his jeans, picking at one of his patches like a scab.

“Is that why you guys like her so much?”

“Yeah! She's kinda like our after-life Ma!”

“Oh…. Sorry I said all that stuff about her, then.”

“Naw, it's fine. Most of it was true.”

“But wait, you and Arge are-” TOby stops, blinking as he plays at mental math to try to decipher the situation. “... _Not_ brothers?”

“Cousins.” Dial clarifies. “I dunno why everyone's got so much trouble with that, we don't even sound alike!”

“Well everyone knows you're _something,”_ TOby says. “And most cousin's aren't anything. Besides you two are like, crazy similar.”

_“What?!”_ Dial squawks. “No we ain't! How dare you! _Qu'est-ce que tu as?!”_

“Oh my god, would you listen to yourself? You sound just like him!”

“H-...Don't say that.”

“It's not that obvious,” TOby continues. “At first I thought you couldn't be more different. But it's like… the way you talk sometimes. You both have… really specific sentence structure. And you like riddles and word games. Nobody fuckin’ likes riddles. I've definitely never met a pair of cousins like you two.”

“Well, we grew up together,” Dial explains. “At least I think we did- that's how I remember it. Spent the first couple years of my life in the land of the bold and the home of the brave, then moved to England and lived with Arge and his family. We were always together after that.”

“Oh, god,” TOby says. “You two must've been _demons_ as kids.”

_“Oh_ yeah,” Dial says. “And then we got older, he moved away, then I moved away, and after a couple years we just… lost touch I guess.”

“And yet, he had the decency to think of you for this hellscape,” TOby says. Dial laughs, but it sounds nervous.

“I guess he figured he owed it to me!”

 

Gossip becomes regular between them.

“You hear Arge broke up with Magnus?” Dial asks one day, giggling musically through his words. TOby would be smirking if he could.

“Yeah, Loverboy passed me yesterday,” he says. “couldn't stop myself from asking if he made RGB’s rabbit disappear.”

Dial pauses for a second.

“... Is’at some kinda euphemism?”

“... Well it is _now.”_

They both laugh until they can't breathe.

“I dunno how RGB goes through relationships like water!” Dial says, catching his breath.

“Oh, and I suppose you don't date?” TOby asks, a bit too snidely.

And Dial is _silent_ , which TOby hates.

When Dial’s voice comes back, he says,

“Never really liked it.”

“Liked what?”

“Liked dating.”

Something about how quiet Dial is makes it difficult for TOby to think of a response, so he doesn't. After another tangible silence has passed, Dial continues.

“Had a couple girlfriends and boyfriends before, uh-” he pauses, “‘Hero-ing’, that I sorta remember. But none'a’m ever-... ‘always just felt awkward, I guess.”

TOby is actually surprised at that- he wishes he could turn his head to look at his companion. He strains his eyes to look to the side. Dial has his head down, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand, maybe a little too hard.

TOby still doesn't say anything. For some reason, he feels like if he speaks now, he'll never get to hear this again.

“Not for lack'a tryin’. But it just don't come naturally to me… if I'm honest, I'm not sure I know what people mean when they say they're _‘in love’_.”

Dial plays with the zipper on his jacket for a second, then says, “Ain't never told no one that before.”

“Well,” TOby says, “Your secrets safe with me.”

They sit in companionable silence for a minute, and then Dial says, “Et tu?”

“Please don't speak Latin at me.”

_“And you?”_

“.....”

“Tell me about your love-life, numbskull.”

“Oh,” TOby says, mentally smacking himself. “Well… I mostly remember this one guy.”

He remembers a face with brown hair and brown eyes, and he remembers it youthful and fresh, and he remembers it just a little worn and wrinkled. “I think we were together for a while.”

“That's nice. Good on you.”

“Thanks,” TOby says.

He also remembers that face smiling down at him, trying to keep tears at bay, while he laid wasting away in a hospital bed.

“Let's talk about something else.”

 

“A’right, here's a game.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Double feature movie titles,” Dial says.

“Such as?”

“... ‘Rocky’; ‘The Dark Knight’.”

TOby snorts.

“Okay, I see how it is… ‘Dude, Where's My Car?’; ‘Casablanca’.”

Dial laughs at that one, and TOby feels a little proud.

“Okay, ‘Now You See Me’?”

“Yeah?”

“‘Catch Me If You Can’.”

TOby finds himself cracking up, and it dawns on him that Dial is the only person who can make him laugh this hard.

“Wait, wait wait wait!” TOby interjects through their giggling. “This one's a bit of a thinker.”

“Go ‘head.”

“‘Son of God’,”

“A’right?”

“‘Silence of the Lambs’.”

Dial is silent for a second- and then bursts out laughing all over again.

 

“-So this one time, back when I lived in Brooklyn, Arge an’ I were at this bar? And these two big, dumb guys started givin’ me trouble. Arge- well they beat the bejeezus outta him, but he got a couple good swings in! He's a coward alright, but he's got fight in 'im, that's for sure.”

“Why were they giving you trouble in the first place?” TOby asks

“Oh, who can remember?” Dial says, and TOby rolls his eyes.

“What'd you do in Brooklyn?” He changes direction. Dial's told a couple stories about living in Brooklyn now, but only self-contained anecdotes with no context.

“Drugs, mostly,” Dial says, and TOby laughs. “Nah, I'm pretty sure I had a radio show.”

“Never would've guessed,” TOby says, and now it's Dials turn to laugh.

“What about you? What'd you get up to before you shirked your mortal coil?”

“Made stuff,” TOby grunts.

“Mm?” Dial looks to him quizzically. “What kinda stuff?”

“Dunno,” he says. He remembers wood and knives and paint, calluses on his hands and the smell of lacquer on his clothes, but no end products. “Think maybe... furniture?”

“Aw, come on Real Winner, you must'a done _somethin’_ more exciting than _furniture.”_

“I dunno.. I think maybe I didn't have one set thing,” TOby says. He also remembers ceramic and porcelain and adhesive, detail tools and chisels, and even though it sends chills down his spine the occasional needle and thread. “I think maybe… I made whatever I wanted.”

“That's admirable,” Dial says, after a pause. “Enviable, even.”

“Thanks.”

 

One day, Dial plops unceremoniously down next to him, mumbling under his breath.

“...Everything tickety-boo, Dial?” TOby asks.

“You hear RGB and Madras are back together?”

“I have not,” TOby says. “Weird, when people date the same person twice.”

“Exactly!” Dial exclaims. “Now I'm not one to judge-”

TOby snorts.

“But don't you find it a little… _unsavoury,_ RGB bein’ with Madras? I mean, she ain't exactly peddlin’ candy.”

“That's a little hypocritical coming from one of her _unsavoury_ customers,” TOby says. “You've come out of the House Of Paint high off your ass about ten too many times for that attitude.”

Dial sputters.

“What I do in my spare time is none’a your beeswax!”

“Well then what RGB does in his is none of yours!” TOby counters. Dial scoffs, crossing his arms.

“He's my cousin!” He says, “I'm allowed to be _concerned_ ‘bout his _welfare.”_

“I'm _pretty sure_ he's an adult.”

“You ever met that guy?!” Dial all but shouts. “He ain't got _no idea_ what he's doing! I wouldn't trust him to look after himself if you put a gun to my head.”

TOby breaks out into full on cracking up.

“What's so funny, Dollface?”

“I just realized-” TOby pushes out through the laughter, “You're- you're- you're _uppity!”_

Dial makes a noise of indignation.

“Am not!”

“You are! You are, you're _nosey!_ You're a _stick-in-the-mud!”_ TOby says. “I don't know why I didn't see it before!”

“I got _no idea_ what you're talkin’ about!” Dial crosses his arms. “You're just making stuff up.”

“Eh, don't be embarrassed,” TOby says, “It's a good look on you.”

 

TOby is watching Dial tell some story- definitely watching more than listening. He's not sure what Dial is going on about at all, he hasn't listened to a word the automaton has said in ages, because today Dial just can't seem to sit still, and TOby finds that _way_ more entertaining. He's crossing his arms, uncrossing them, tapping his fingers, picking at the patches on his jeans, laying down, crossing his legs, uncrossing them, sitting back up, lather rinse repeat. It's fascinating and distracting and just so _Dial,_ and TOby ends up eternally grateful he'd taken notice. At least twenty minutes in, Dial waves his arms over his head, inadvertently lifting the hems of both his jacket and his t-shirt, exposing his gaudy purple belt. TOby sees it again- not the belt, but the tiny blemish engraved in the metal of Dial's pelvis.

“What is that?”

“What's what?”

“On your back.”

Dial shoots up, his hands bolting to cover up the offending area.

“Nothing! It ain't nothin’,” Dial says.

“Oh yeah. Looks a lot like nothing.”

Dial shakes his head, and pulls his t-shirt down over his hips.

“You can forget it, mister.”

“Oh, come on,” TOby says. “What is it? I need to know.”

“Not gonna happen!”

“C'mon-!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“I'm not gonna stop-!”

“Until you tell me-!”

_“Fine!”_ Dial shouts. “If it'll get'chu off my back.”

He sighs, looks left and right, presumably to make sure no one else is around, then pulls the waistband of his jeans down so TOby can get a clear look.

It _is_ an engraving- it says _I'm_ in cursive letters, then a curvy symbol that TOby recognises as having something to do with music, but doesn't know enough about to identify.

“What does that squiggly thing mean?”

Dial groans in frustration.

“It's a treble clef.”

“So it's 'I'm-”

TOby doesn't need to finish saying it outloud for it to click.

“Yeah yeah, yuck it up,” Dial says, TOby falling over from laughter. “It was a tattoo-”

“It's a tramp stamp!”

“It's not a-! … it's a tramp stamp.” Dial sighs. “Got it while I lived in Brooklyn- course I was drunk as a skunk at the time. I'd been hoping it'd go away when I got my new digs… no such luck.”

“The universe has a sense of humour.”

“Oh, keep your mouth shut!” Dial yelps. “You expect me to believe you didn't have no-” He wiggles his fingers accusingly, “Accoutrements when you were alive?”

TOby thinks.

“Okay, uh… you're gonna hate this.”

“Let's hear it.”

“I wore sunglasses.”

“You don't say.”

“Like, all the time. It was the nineties, it was okay then.”

“Like even at night?”

“Even at night.”

Dial lets out a playful whistle.

“Now _that's_ tacky.”

“Not as tacky as a neon green leather jacket,” TOby says.

“Hey now!” Dial argues, “This jackets been with me through hell and high water!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah! It was the first thing I bought, see,” he explains, “With my first paycheck, when I moved to Brooklyn. Still though...” He looks down at himself. “Guess a little variety would be nice. Pretty troublesome we can't even change clothes. Wish I could wear somethin’ _purty.”_

“... How do you mean?” TOby asks, trying his best to keep a neutral tone, his eyes darting over to his friend.

“Oh, y'know,” Dial says, “I used to do this thing where I'd…” He trails of for a second, and TOby wonders if he's going to continue.

“I'd go and get myself a nice dress. Then I'd take it back to my place and cut open the skirt in the front, pin it back a little so it was more like just a trail. Wear pants under it. Or maybe I wouldn't- I mean-! Not with the skirt open like that, course! But you know, I guess you could say I was a bit of an experimenter.”

_Huh,_ TOby thinks, trying to imagine it in his head. That'd probably be pretty darn cute.

“Aw shucks! You tease!”

TOby realises he'd said _that'd probably be pretty darn cute,_ out loud.

“That's not what I meant!” He quickly corrects himself.

“Oh no?”

“No. I just mean… you're creative. That sounds like a good look.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean…. Anything beats out _‘neon green leather jacket’.”_

 

It's the middle of the night, and TOby is listening to Dial talk about a particular encounter with a hot-headed character, at a party Magnus had thrown a few weeks earlier. Apparently, it had turned into something of an altercation, and while Dial was claiming now that the fight went his way, TOby doesn't believe it for a second. He isn't concerned, however, with the row itself, so much as the cause- the theft of a certain illicit substance, bought by Dial earlier that night from their favourite merchant.

“What is it you _get_ from Madras?” TOby asks.

“Huh?”

“I wasn't running around this place that long before- _you_ know. I don't really know as much as I'd like to. What do you get from her?”

“Oh! Uh… dreams, mostly,” Dial says.

“You can use dreams when you're awake?”

“Anything is a drug if you use it wrong enough, bud.”

“That's fair.”

“There's other stuff,” Dial says, “Ever heard of a _'glee’?”_

“... Like, the club?”

“No! Like the creature!”

“Oh,” TOby says, embarrassed. “Yeah, I remember those. A bunch of them snuck into RGB's pockets and it was like he had too much laughing gas- _oh.”_

“‘Oh’ is right,” Dial says. “Then there's…” He trails off, lowering his voice. “This one's a little on the _taboo_ side, but sometimes you just use, y'know, colours.”

“Colours,” TOby repeats. “Like…”

“What's Arge call it again? _Vital fluid?”_

“Like _feelings?”_

“Yeah,” Dial says. “They help a _lot.”_

“But… don't you need to get it from…” TOby wishes he could cringe. “An… _alive_ thing?”

Dial places a finger over the center of his receiver. _Shh._

“Like I said. Taboo,” he says. “Anyway, that's what the whole hassle was about. Had the green stuff on me, tough guy wanted in.”

“And was the fight worth it?”

Dial looks away. After a pause, he says,

“It was worth it to me.”

 

On days when Dial doesn't come, TOby has a lot of time to think to himself.

Which always sucks.

He doesn't like the quiet time alone to think about his situation and the numbness and how he got like this and Her. He doesn't like how those thoughts always lead to memories of pain as his limbs are ripped apart and sewn back together and hearing somebody screaming and realising it's him. He doesn't like the all-encompassing dread that this is forever, that he's stuck like this for the rest of his life which all evidence suggests will never end.

But he doesn't like to think about Dial, either. Because thoughts of Dial always lead to thoughts of how funny he is, and how intelligent he is, despite his inability to admit it, and how positive he is despite devastating circumstances. How in his mind Dial's laugh has gone from obnoxious to musical. How Dial is the only person who visits him in his post, staring over the Endless Deep, how he is the only light in his miserable existence and how he's fairly certain every ounce of sanity he still has, he owes to Dial. How he would be content to sit here for the rest of fathomable existence if he had Dial by his side, waxing poetic about the stars.

_Stop,_ he tells himself, every time. _Stop, you know where this goes. You can't do that. That wouldn't be fair to him. You're his friend and he told you he wasn't comfortable with that kind of thing. Stop. You can't fall in love with him. Don't fall in love with him. Stop being in love with him._

He sighs.

_I'm fucked._

 

TOby hears clicking heels moving closer to him. He says nothing. When the heels stop behind him, he still says nothing. Then, he hears the sound of someone clearing their throat- which he hates, because he's pretty sure the figure behind him doesn't _have_ a throat.

“Can I help you?” TOby drones.

“As a matter of fact, you certainly can!” says RGB, and TOby sighs. Should've known. “And I think I can help you, in return.”

_… Oh?_

“You asked me to tell you about Dial,” RGB says. “Well, why don't we play a little game.”

_Oh._

“It's just that, you've been talking to him for a _while_ now, haven't you?” He goes on, “You must have some knowledge of him by now- in fact, likely more recent information than _I_ have. So, my proposal is this: Tit-for-tat, question for question, I ask you one, you ask me one.”

“Pass.”

RGB emits little more than a stammer.

_“Pass?!”_ he asks once he finds his words again. “Why on _earth?_ Last time I checked, you were _all_ too ready to find out what makes Dial tick- what's changed your mind?”

“Don't need to justify myself to you,” TOby says, “Go to hell.”

RGB _hmmph_ ’s behind him, and stomps off.

 

One day, Dial shows up with about five inches of the outer ring of his microphone bent completely out of shape.

“Oh- holy shit, Dial, what happened?!” he asks as Dial takes his usual seat next to him.

“Hmm? Oh, this?” Dial asks, seemingly unperturbed. He waves a hand dismissively. “Aw, you know how She gets!”

TOby's brain takes a second to readjust to what Dial is saying.

“I mean, she can get nasty-” Dial continues, “But I know when I go back She'll fuss over me.”

TOby looks over Dial's torn and patched up amour, and finally understands.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“You don't gotta worry none,” Dial says. “Honestly, I kinda had it coming.”

TOby knows full well that if he could move, he'd be shaking with anger.

But because the time feels right, and he needs to know, and because he can't think of anything else to say, TOby allows himself a question.

“Dial… why did you say ‘yes’ to Her?”

“Oh-!” Dial seems surprised, and TOby feels more aware than ever that She is listening in on everything they say. “Uh, well.”

There's a long stretch of silence, and for a second, TOby isn't sure Dial is going to respond at all.

“It ain't all bad,” he finally says, and TOby should've known better than to hope he'd get the straight forward truth. “I'm safe with Her. She's changin’ things, and at the end of the day I get to go home to our li’l safe haven and try to make Her laugh.”

TOby knows he shouldn't push his luck, shouldn't ask more than what Dial is willing to offer, but there's something about the way he talks about Her…

“Do you love Her?”

“Oh, I'm in love with Her alright,” Dial says confidently, blissfully even. TOby is alarmed at the particular wording.

“But you said-”

_“I know what I said.”_ Dial cuts him off, and TOby realises they're teetering off the edge of a conversation, and into an argument.

But he can't stop himself.

“You call that _'safe’?”_ he asks.

“Told you. Ain't no matter. Tinker can fix me up.”

“Yeah? And what's Cell gonna say when she sees you like this?”

“You know what?” Dial says. “I got enough’a this from RGB when we were alive- don't need it from _you.”_

And he gets up and leaves.

 

TOby doesn't see Dial for a _while_ after that. To be fair, he doesn't know exactly how long- time doesn't pass normally here- but to TOby, it feels like forever.

And then one night, a familiar figure appears from the House Of Paint.

TOby feels a brief reprieve in his anxiety- a small relief at the sight of the copper automaton- but it's over in an instant. This isn't like the other times Dial waltzed over, high and somewhat unsteady from his visit with the merchant. Dial isn't just unsteady- he's stumbling, his entire posture slumped over, like a puppet with his strings clipped.

“Dial,” TOby starts uneasily, once Dial is close enough to hear him. “Dial, are you oka-”

Dial collapses next to him.

Oh, this is _much_ worse.

TOby spends the rest of the night with baited breath, eyeing Dial just about every five seconds. Is he breathing? Wait, has he _ever_ breathed? _Do I breathe?_ TOby doesn't know the answer to any of those questions. He keeps checking for some sign of life, and then wonders if they can even die.

When morning comes, Dial finally stirs, and TOby feels a metaphorical weight off his shoulders.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

Dial just groans.

“How we feelin’?”

“Like hell,” Dial croaks.

“Yeah, well…” TOby starts, but can't think of something sarcastic to say, so he stops.

They just sit next to each other for a while.

“You really are an addict, aren't you?” TOby asks, when he finds the courage.

“What gave it away?”

TOby internally cringes. Yeah, he was a little slow on the uptake on that one.

“Do you… need…” _Need what?_ He couldn't move and probably weighed as much as a feather- what kind of help could he possibly offer Dial?

“Need what?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

They're both quiet for a moment, then Dial starts to sit up.

“What’re you lookin’ for, anyway?”

“What?” TOby asks.

“I mean I come here, practically every day, an’ talk yer ear off about whatever ails me or bug you about books you ain't never gonna read or sit here doped outta my mind and you haven't cussed me off or told me to go dig a hole and die in it for ages,” Dial says. “What's changed? What're you getting out of this?”

TOby struggles to process what he's hearing.

“What kind of question even is that?” he blurts out. “Dial, you're my friend.”

“I'm your _what_ now?”

TOby almost finds nervous laughter escaping him- _how could Dial be so confused by that statement?_

“Do you remember that argument we had, last time we talked?” he asks instead.

“Believe you me,” Dial says with a huff. “I ain't forgettin’ that any time soon.”

“Yeah well,” TOby takes a second to think of how he wants to phrase this. “Only friends have arguments like that “

“Huh,” Dial says, then after a pause, “I must still be _real_ good friends with Arge then.”

The tension breaks, and the ensuing laughter is a relief. After they quiet down, TOby takes another risk.

“How did you die?”

“Oof, that's a loaded question,” Dial responds. “Let's see now, a _bunch'a_ stuff happened. I was a functioning alcoholic, for a while, that was fun,” he says. “Then I was just a regular alcoholic. That was _less_ fun. There were pills, too. That turned into smack after… well, you know, toward the end.”

“... You overdosed.” TOby says, and just saying it makes him feel sick.

“I mean, I _guess_ I did,” Dial says. “Don't really remember it a whole lot, but that comes with the territory. So what about you? How'd _you_ kick the bucket?”

TOby takes a second, staring at Dial, his mind blank.

_How does he explain this to someone from the sixties?_

“I… was sick,” he starts. “...My immune system was compromised. I… spent a long time in a hospital. And then I died.”

There's an _unbearable_ silence, and then Dial says, “Oh. Sorry t’hear that.”

Then he says,

“You're real lucky, though.”

“I'm _what?”_

“You said you had a partner, right?” Dial asks. “You had someone by your side, when you died. That's lucky.”

TOby thinks on that for a second.

Everyone's heard the stories, of rock stars and actors who die alone, in their apartments, emaciated and choking on their own vomit.

“I guess I _am_ lucky.”

 

“You know, my offer still stands,” TOby hears behind him one day.

“Get lost.”

“Now now, TOby, don't be so hasty-”

“I'm not being hasty,” TOby interjects. “I've already made up my mind.”

“Oh? And what is that.”

“I'm not interested in giving away Dial's secrets. He's my friend.”

For a second, RGB doesn't reply. Then,

“Your… friend?” he says. “Your… friend. Honestly. Your _friend,_ is that what you think?” He's starting to laugh a little, and suddenly TOby wishes he hadn't said anything at all.

“Fine. Fine. You want to know the truth?” RGB asks, stepping closer. “You want to know what's _'up’,_ with Dial? Want to know what his _‘deal’_ is? I'll tell you. He is the most conceited, self-righteous person I have ever had the misfortune to know, and yet somehow simultaneously the most masochistic, self-loathing poor sod to have ever walked the earth. He's condescending and arrogant, yet his life has never been anything but falling apart. He's been in more abusive relationships than I can count on both hands and had been addicted to everything under the sun, and yet he has _the gall_ to tell others they make poor decisions. He is possessive and insecure and jealous. He will give you absolutely everything in him until he bleeds himself dry, and then drain you right back, and once you're as empty as he is toss you out like yesterday's milk. You think he's your _friend?”_ RGB laughs. “He's just pestering you because he's lonely! Dial doesn't care about anyone but himself. Stop trying to figure him out, stop trying to fix him, he has been this way since I can remember and will be this way until the end of time. You'd be better off if he'd never bothered you at all.”

He hears RGB start to walk away.

“You're a dick.” TOby calls.

“Call me whatever you like, you know I'm right.”

 

“What's up, Raggedy Andy?” A voice behind him asks, sitting down next to him.

“Uh, hey,” TOby says awkwardly. Dial pauses.

“... Everythin’ okay there?”

“Nothing,” TOby says.

“Nothing.” Dial repeats. “So yer answer to ‘Everything okay-”

“Yeah yeah, I heard it too.”

“So what's goin’ on?”

TOby pauses. He doesn't _want_ to tell him- wants to spare him the knowledge of the whole debacle- but he feels like keeping secrets would be just as bad as spilling secrets.

“RGB talked to me the other day.”

“Oh?”

“About you.”

_“... Oh?”_ This time, his voice has a definite break in it, the high-pitched squeak of someone who's fight-or-flight response is kicking in.

“I-I-I-It's not like I asked,” TOby adds hurriedly. “He just.. just said all this nasty stuff about you.”

Dial says nothing for a moment.

Then, “He's right.”

“What?”

“He's right. Whatever he said about me, he's right.”

“... Dial, that's not-”

“Let's hear it then,” Dial says. “C'mon.”

TOby sighs.

“... He said you're narcissistic and masochistic at the same time,” he says. “He said you never had your life together, and that you were in a lot of… unhealthy relationships. He said-” TOby stops himself. _Does he even want to know the answer to this question?_ “He said… you use people. And then just… drop them.”

They're both tense and quiet.

“Is that true?”

“Wh-ah- That's-! That ain't- I never-....” Dial stalls, and then, “.... Yeah.”

“I told you before, when Arge and I moved, we lost touch,” he says. “That's not… Really what happened. He called me, wrote me, visited me and I… Couldn't be bothered. I dunno why- I _tried_ to-”

He sounds nervous and frustrated, but TOby doesn't interject.

“Yeah, I dropped him. I just-... It'd been _so long._ And I tried and tried and… nothing I did ever seemed to make a difference. And then all of a sudden I-... I couldn't be around him. It _hurt._ I couldn't help him anymore. When he started to get bad, I... I guess I just… wanted to pretend it wasn't happening?”

TOby plays it back in his mind. _Started to get bad?_ What is he talking about?

“Or maybe I just didn't wanna feel responsible,” Dial laughs. “Didn't wanna stick around to see when things went to shit. Maybe if I didn't talk to him, I wouldn't feel guilty. Or sad. That backfired. I absolutely lost my mind when he died.”

“How did… how did RGB die?”

 

The next time he sees Dial, the automaton slumps down next to him, and TOby sees that his jeans are torn practically every other inch. Even his jacket looks worn and damaged, large chunks of the outer layer either worn down or completely missing.

“... Dial…” TOby starts.

“Don't say it.” Dial cuts in. “I know what you're thinkin’.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You think I'm crazy,” Dial says.

“I think you have Stockholm Syndrome.” TOby replies.

“Maybe I do,” Dial says, laughing. “But… I dunno, why should I care if She bats me around a little, so long as I'm happy?”

TOby snorts.

“Dial, you're a lot of things, but ‘happy’ is _not_ one of them.”

“... Then whad’you expect me to do?”

“I expect you won't do _anything,”_ TOby says. “Just… don't stop coming round. I-I-I… just. You know. Wanna see that you're alright.”

“... Okay,” Dial says.

And TOby should've known that for Dial, that was too much to ask, because he doesn't see him again after that.

 

_“Well, caller number one?”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. This is my fandom Magnum Opus. No one bother me ever again.


End file.
